


far from all the things that we are

by TDK



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Episode: s05e13 The Big Bang, F/M, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Big Bang, Rory Williams (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TDK/pseuds/TDK
Summary: (The universe is kind. Maybe this is payment, for saving it. A chance. Not that he'd ever ask for anything in return. But this once he will gladly, selfishly take it.)She wakes up just before midnight of June 26th. She remembers him, like remembering a dream before it fades away.xAmy and the Doctor, and all the days in between. Post-Big Bang AU





	far from all the things that we are

**Author's Note:**

> Amy and the Doctor, and all the days in between. Post-Big Bang AU.

 

"I'll find you," he tells her.

She nods. "I know."

He smiles. The warmth spreads across his face, reaching his arms, down to his fingertips, like golden honey. It soaks into her bones, where his hands are touching her.

He lets go, though not of his own will. She's slipping away, sinking under the earth.

 

x

(The universe is kind. Maybe this is payment, for saving it. A chance. Not that he'd ever ask for anything in return. But this once he will gladly, selfishly take it.)

She wakes up just before midnight of June 26th. She remembers him, like remembering a dream before it fades away - sharp and bleak, like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

She sits up. He's sitting by her bedside, in the same place before he crossed over to the other side. She stares at him, wide-eyed, in the dark. He is looking at her, the shadows casting strange shapes on his features. He smiles, small and uncertain.

She opens her mouth to speak. No words come out. His smile grows bigger, surer.

She scrambles out of bed and throws her arms around his neck. He laughs, his face sinking into her shoulder, his arms winding around her waist. He feels the entirety of her - all that red hair on pale skin in an even paler night gown; if there is one thing he's certain of now, it's that even the weight of the universe couldn't compare.

"I found you. I remembered."

"Quicker than I expected, if I was being honest."

She breaks away and smacks his shoulder. "Oh, shut up!" she exclaims, but she's smiling too.

He cradles her face between his hands. She tightens her grip on his lapels.

She settles more comfortably on his lap and rests her head against his chest. Two beating hearts. All is right. "Gotcha."

His hands find their way into her flaming hair. "Gotcha."

 

x

(Or maybe, he's thick. Maybe this isn't about him and sealing the cracks and saving the universe at all. Maybe it's about her. Of course, it's always been about her.)

 

x

"So, what do you think?"

"Think of what?"

"Let's go," he says, a coy smile teasing the corner of his lips.

"I can't," she answers.

"Why not?" He retorts, as if she just made the most ridiculous, offensive statement in the whole universe.

"I'm getting married in the morning." She crosses her arms, chin up, eyebrows furrowing in a way that convinces nobody. It amuses him; he can see the wanderlust dance in her eyes.

"Didn't stop you the first time," he laughs. She grins.

"Fine. But you have to get me back in time." She uncrosses her arms and walks up to him, smile never leaving her lips.

He doesn't move, only rocks on the balls of his feet. "You know me." He cocks his head, extends his hand.

She takes it and doesn't look back.

 

x

"You don't have an excuse this time," she says out of the blue.

"Excuse?" He replies distractedly, pushing and pulling away at some buttons and levers on his console.

"Why you took me."

"I didn't _take_ you."

"Don't you get clever, Raggedy Man."

He chuckles. She smiles.

She continues: "The universe rebooted. But you still turn up on my doorstep before my wedding? Thought you were keen on my getting married."

He looks at her amidst the fiddling of his controls, eyes sharp and smile sharper, though not unkind. He flips a switch and doesn't say anything. The ship comes alive. Then: "Didn't exactly plan it, did I?"

She shakes her head. He snaps his fingers and points at her, face lighting up, as if to say, _exactly my point_. She narrows her eyes and purses her lips. There is a question there, but one she won't pursue. Instead she asks: "So, where to?"

"Didn't I say? Wherever you like."

 

x 

"I wonder how it feels?"

"What?"

"Getting left on the altar."

"You're a cheery one."

"No, but really. I mean, until we come back five minutes later, he'd think I've left. For good."

"I guess that's true. But he's clever. Would make a right guess where you went."

"Can't say if that makes it better or worse."

"It's what it is."

"And how long's it been since we left?"

 

x

She steps out of the TARDIS and breathes in warm, fresh summer air. There's a vast canopy of tropical trees as far as the eye can see. Colorful birds flit overhead. It looks like Earth, but they could be anywhere.

"Where are we?" She whispers, drinking in the lively view.

There is a twinkle in his eyes. "Take a guess."

She frowns at him. "We could be anywhere."

He shrugs. "Well, we could be. But today is not just any ordinary day."

"What's today?"

He simply smiles in response. She looks down at her watch, puzzled. They've been traveling for a while, and a linear progression of time really isn't all that important once you say yes to traveling anywhere and everywhere with a mad alien. Yet the feel of a watch on her wrist is comforting, familiar; like a tether in a rocky ocean.

"But it's.. it's..."

His smile is impossibly huge now, his fingers flexing excitedly. "Happy birthday, Amelia."

She squeals then breaks into uncontrollable giggles. "But this means we're in... are we? Tell me I'm right."

He presses a kiss onto her forehead. "You're always right."

She never thought they'd actually get to Rio, because the Doctor is mad and strange and sometimes difficult, and getting anywhere is an erratic game of Russian roulette. But here they are.

 

x 

It is a familiar scene: him and her and the glowing console room.

It is a familiar conversation:

"Why'd you take me?"

"Why not?" He answers, without missing a beat.

"You always say that."

"You always ask the same question."

There is a challenge in her eyes, but two can play at this game.

"I was going to get married."

"I know, but I did _ask_. Didn't have to go, if you didn't want," he says easily, grin cocky.

"You could've just left."

"You just brought me back into existence, that would've been rude."

A grin breaks across her scarlet lips. Oh, he's impossible, he knows. And he also knows he's just won.

"Getting. Married!" She tries, but she knows she's losing this non-argument (even to herself).

He laughs. "And you came anyway."

 

x

"How did you know it was my birthday?"

"I know a lot of things."

"Right... Does that mean you're keeping track of our travel? By Earth-time, I mean?"

"'Course. Have to get you back in time for stuff, as you said."

"Uh huh. So what time is it now?"

"I... actually have no idea."

"But you said you were keeping track!"

"I left my watch in my room."

"You're a rubbish timekeeper."

 

x

"Look at that! Soaring silver colonnades. What did I tell you?"

Amy laughs, not quite believing the towering image before her. "Okay, I believe you!"

He takes her to Apalapucia on a particularly sunny Saturday morning, when the place is bustling with life and beauty. Her hair swings about like drapes falling across a lit stage as she looks this way and that.

She turns to him and smiles, and there's something in the look in her eyes. "Thanks for bringing me."

He winks at her then pretends to read his tourist booklet, but he takes her hand in his.

He feels a tug. "Now, come on! Stop reading your stupid guidebook!" She tugs at him again, her mind already racing a million miles faster than her feet can catch up with.

The most beautiful place in the galaxy; there's nowhere better to take her to, he thinks. She blends in.

 

x

"What are we doing today?" She mumbles drowsily across his chest. She's taken quite a liking to dozing all curled up on his lap when he reads in his comfy chair in the library.

"Hush, Pond. Reading," he whispers, though words have come to mean nothing in comparison to the shining crimson locks splayed across his arms and chest.

"I'm bored," she whines.

He smiles and kisses the top of her head. "Go to sleep."

She nuzzles against his neck, her breath warm, her skin fragrant. He turns a page. She says nothing more, her breathing even.

He thinks she might have fallen asleep, but a few minutes later she pipes up: "Doctor."

His fingers pause from flipping one page to the next. He listens to her heartbeat against his. "Amelia?"

"I'm glad you came back."

"All thanks to you."

"I meant...in my backyard. Or in my room. Whatever. Point is: thanks. For asking me to come. Again."

He closes his book and deposits it on the side table. His fingers map her back, run through her hair. "I'll always ask you to come with me. Whenever you want."

"Promise?"

He smiles, kissing the crown of her head. He sighs and lets his heartbeats tell the tale.

 

x

"You're right," he says, swinging his feet back and forth. The TARDIS is suspended in deep space, floating like a speck of dust in the air. They sit side by side at the entrance, sharing a bowl of custard fish between them. Before them, a birth of a star unfolds.

"About what?" She licks custard cream off her fingers.

"There being no reason. Or a reason. Whichever." He bites into his fish.

Amy snorts. "Well that was vague, thanks."

The Doctor swallows. "I was aiming for curt."

"You're an idiot," she laughs.

Light flashes across their bodies. They fall into silence for a moment; before them, multicolored clouds collapse and disintegrate, the once towering nebula now scattered about. A cloud not too far from them starts to _react_ \- a rotation of gases and a core collapsing faster than the cloud around it could sustain. It starts to glow brighter, and the Doctor knows that's the center heating up. Reds, golds, and greens flash and sparkle around them, reflecting in magnificent streaks across Amy's hair. He watches her looking on in wonder, her mouth hanging slightly open at the magnificence of it all. For a moment, he forgets to breathe.

Of course she was right: he took her with him for a reason, and if he's honest, it's this: the way she looks at a star being born; the way her eyes widen at the sight of three moons against the velvet night; the way she intertwines their fingers the moment they step out of the blue box; the way the light catches in her hair, the way her lips turn up into a smile when she lands on every different planet; the way her heart beats against his every Tuesday afternoon in the comfy chair in the library; the way -

"Doctor. That was beautiful." She turns to him and tears are staining her cheeks.

He catches a stray tear with his thumb. "Yeah."

 

x

"Earth, 21st century. There's a Van Gogh exhibit at the Louvre. Thought you'd like to see." He opens the doors, stepping out and spreading his arms wide. Excitement crackles like electricity in the greens of her eyes.

Sunflowers are arranged thematically in vases throughout the exhibit. The sign says 'Don't Touch' but he steals one for her anyway.

They're looking at the painting of the church (no Krafayis) a second time when it hits her. "Hang on, sunflowers are in season?"

He shrugs dismissively. "It's summer. 'Course they're in season."

"Does that mean we came back to the same time? 2010? We've only been travelling for, what, a month or two, Earth-time?"

"What?" He replies distractedly.

"It's still summer, yeah? So it's like I've never left, only: it's morning, it could be August, and I'm miles away from Leadworth. Well, I guess if I put it that way..."

He turns away from the painting. "Yeah, it's still summer. What does that have to do with anything?"

She's looking at him like he's the biggest idiot in the world. "I was going to get married in June. June is summer."

Understanding dawns on him. He swallows. "Oh. Right. Are you going to go do that now?" He doesn't know what he wants the answer to be (he does).

For a second too long they just stare at each other, like deer caught in the headlights. But then Amy rolls her eyes, her cheeks dimpling. "No, stupid. I was just saying."

He frowns, but relief floods him. "Yeah, okay. Right." He checks his watch. Oops. "Oops."

"Oops?"

"Well if you wanted to get married right now, you really can't anyway."

"And why not?"

"It's June 2011."

"Oh," she says, understanding dawning on her, too.

 

x

"So we've been on the TARDIS for a year, yeah?" Amy is sitting on the barstool of his kitchen island, chin resting on her knuckles.

His back is to her; he's busy making pancakes. "Yep."

"Doesn't feel like a year."

"It's not supposed to feel like anything."

"Really? Thought I felt a bit carsick the other day."

He spins around and waves his spatula at her. "Oi! Don't get clever with me."

Amy cackles. "You're a rubbish driver."

He tries not to grin and fails. Luckily his pancakes offer a welcome cover. "And you can walk out anytime, Pond, door's just there."

"And you could've dropped me off anytime, but you haven't."

He flips his pancakes without comment. But he can feel Amy's expectant glare even without turning his back. "No reason to. Not until you say so." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So this isn't just some thank-you-spin around the universe because I saved your life?"

And this is the start of a conversation he's been hoping to hold off for as long as this regenerated body can. Fortunately, he still has some pancake batter left to attend to and keep his back to her. He pours the batter into the pan. He counts the seconds between the bubbles forming on its surface to the point the half-cooked pancake gets flipped neatly back onto the pan. But Amy is patient - and relentless, and if those two words are normally contradictory, well, not for Amy Pond, that mad, impossible Scottish girl. "No."

"Or because I waited for fourteen years?"

Pour. Wait. Flip. "No."

"Then - "

He doesn't know what hits him (or maybe it's because he miscalculated how much pancake batter he can still cook, batter which is now non-existent; and he's got nothing left to be occupied with), but he suddenly turns and looks her in the eye. "It's because I like it here, with you. Being in the TARDIS with you. I like your company, Pond. That all right?"

Her mouth falls open. His mouth quirks up but he doesn't wait for a reply. Exhaling, like he was holding in a breath he didn't even _know_ he was holding in, he turns back around to try and get busy with, well, anything. "I ran out of batter," he mutters under his breath.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. Banana and chocolate chip!" He slides a plate of towering pancakes onto the kitchen island. She grabs a fork excitedly.

They eat in companionable silence. Her chocolate-smeared smile is sweeter than anything he can ever cook up in his old kitchen.

 

x

It is night, Earth-time. The TARDIS is quiet. Except -

"Hey, Doctor."

"Yes, Pond?"

"I like your company too."

 

x

"You know what I realized?"

"What?"

"Getting left on the altar. I guess I don't need to imagine how it must feel."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's just like getting left. For an unspecified amount of time. By someone you care about. Without any warning. It's just at a different setting, that's all."

 

x

"So it's going to be my birthday again soon, isn't it?" Amy asks, sauntering into the console room.

"Yep." The Doctor rocks back and forth nonchalantly on his makeshift swing, fixing wires here and there below the console.

"That's really weird, not knowing your own birthday! I swear I just had my birthday yesterday."

"There's a calendar somewhere in one of these rooms. We can start marking it," he offers.

She nods distractedly. "But it means I'll be two years older than all my friends if I come back." She makes a face.

He notes offhandedly how she said "if" and not "when". It shouldn't make his hearts flutter in hope, but it does. This is his cue to start the banter. "Just think of it this way, Pond, you'll have accumulated more wisdom in a second of Earth's time than your friends back home will in a year," he shouts up at her through the glass floor.

She peers at him from above, scowl in place. "But I'll start getting crow's feet faster than them too."

"Um, you're twenty-two, I doubt you're going to -"

"What if I spend ten years here? I'll almost be as old as Aunt Sharon!" What looks like legitimate panic flashes in her eyes. He succeeds at not laughing at her predicament, but fails at not getting puzzled. Are humans always this concerned about their age?

"And twice as wise! Silver linings, all I'm saying," the Doctor grunts, yanking away some twisty bit of metal from the tangled mess of stuff in the engines.

"Easy for you to say. I doubt you'll grow past your stupid face in a hundred years."

"Oi!" She has a point, he thinks belatedly. Physically aging for him is like, well, like nothing.

She ignores him. "I can get old here but still come back the night before my wedding!"

He stops fiddling while she rants on about age differences and being a _proper_ adult; he can only focus on one thing from this entire conversation: " _What if I spend ten years here? I can get old here."_

And he likes to think she would. But then, even now, he's not entirely sure. He grimaces at that, because he believes he's the sort of person who is _sure_ about things- lots of things. But he does think - and of this he's certain - that she _should._ His fiery Scottish girl deserves only the entire, brilliant universe and nothing less. He thinks, if she wants to stay forever, he'd let her. He thinks: he'd let her do anything for as long as she wants.

 

x

"Oof!" The Doctor slams into Amy. He grabs her hand and pulls. "Don't wait for me! TARDIS, that way. Let's go!"

Her feet remain planted on the ground, however, panic settling on her features. "Doctor, my ring. I must've dropped it..."

He frowns. "Ring? What?"

She glares at him. "My engagement ring!"

"Engagement...?" He doesn't remember her wearing any ring. She wasn't wearing any ring, was she? Wasn't she? But she _was_. How could he have forgotten that? On the blue fields of the Garden of Eden, it glinted against the dew of the grass where her hand lay. In Arcadia, it reflected in brilliant multicolours from the sunlight streaming through the trees. He closes his eyes and sighs. He's getting old and careless. And complacent.

So many important questions start to flit through his mind, mostly for himself, but now is not the time. "Why are you wearing an engagement ring in space?" He can't quite hide the sarcastic edge in his voice.

She flinches but recovers quickly. "Why are _you_ wearing a bowtie in space?"

He rolls his eyes. She huffs impatiently. The sounds of marching boots grow louder. She stares at the direction they came from and reiterates, "I must've dropped it when we were running. If I could just -"

But he's one step ahead of her. "Are you kidding? Don't be ridiculous, Amy. The Sontarans are just right behind us; it's too dangerous." Her face falls; she blinks and something else shifts onto her features - what he identifies a split second later as disappointment.

_What a disappointment you've been._

Well, he can't have that, can he? But Amy acquiesces and starts to move. "No, you're right, I was being stupid, let's go - "

He steps back and gets his sonic screwdriver out, tossing it between hands that have begun to shake. He huffs. "For you. Too dangerous for you." He glances behind him, calculating the risks he'll have to take (he'll take them all).

He points at her. "Back to the TARDIS. Now. Won't be long!" He runs back the way they came.

She runs the opposite direction, throwing open the TARDIS doors then locking them shut. She stands there for what seems like forever, facing the windows, counting the seconds, her pulse loud in her ears. Five minutes later three urgent knocks rap against the windows, the sounds of chaos accompanying them.

She opens the door to the find the Doctor, eyes crazed but smiling, hair slightly singed and face sooty, holding her ring between his forefinger and thumb. He thrusts it into her hands, then presses a kiss onto four fingers, slapping them gently on her forehead as he passes her. He runs to the console and starts punching in numbers, pulling down levers. She shuts the doors and runs up the platform.

The cacophony of screaming and stomping outside fades as the TARDIS noise takes over everything. A second later and the ship goes silent. "That was close."

Amy exhales. She runs to him and hugs him. "Thank you."

He shrugs, squeezing her tight. "Who da man?" She slaps his shoulder.

“What was that for!” He rubs the sore spot uselessly.

She’s crying. “You could’ve - I didn’t - that was insane!”

He pulls on his tweed jacket and straightens his bowtie. “You’re welcome.” She laughs, wiping her tears. He kisses her forehead.

She slips the ring back onto her finger and sits on the springy chair, observing the tiny thing. He returns to the console and watches her in his peripheral.

"Rory always told me to leave it off because I might lose it or- or break it. It cost him a lot."

He fiddles with the controls and still doesn't look at her. She continues, eyes never leaving the diamond stone, "But I always thought I deserved to wear it you know? And it's pretty. I like it, so why shouldn't I wear it?"

The TARDIS remains silent, but he knows she knows he's listening. "Besides, if he keeps telling me not to wear it, _of_   _course_ I'll wear it. Just to spite him." Their eyes meet. She chuckles and he smiles.

 

x

"Take me home," Amy says, her fingers twiddling nervously together, but her hair fiery as ever.

He avoids her eyes, clears his throat. "Okay."

 _No, not like that,_ echoes from his memory. He waits for it. He enters the coordinates. He waits.

They land.

 

x

"So, erm, this is good-bye, then?" He tries for casual. He's done this before, hasn't he?

She looks back at her house, still and quiet in the night, the only light coming from the fairy lights in her room, which, she realizes only now, she forgot to turn off when they left, about a year ago - five minutes ago.

She turns to face him. Her nose is pink from the cold. Her skin is pale in the moonlight, her freckles constellations on her face. Her breath comes out in a misty cloud. But her eyes are clear and bright. "If I -" She clears her throat.

She starts again. "I've been thinking. A lot. Over the past few days."

He nods. His heartbeats have traveled all the way to this throat, the sound of them reverberating in his ears.

"And- " She shakes her head. "How long have we been gone?"

He doesn't even look at his watch. "Five minutes."

She smiles for a moment. "Just like you said."

He smiles back. But his fingers have gone cold, and it's taking all his willpower to stay absolutely still.

"This life- thing- whatever we have. It's brilliant and dangerous and amazing. And- " she takes a huge gulp of air, the moonlight reflecting in her bright auburn irises. He studies her face; she has that expression on again, that one she wears when she's overwhelmed: her mouth slightly downturned and hanging open, her eyes bulbous orbs, her forehead creased in the middle.

She looks like a fairytale spun to life. He watches her step forward and sees the exact moment she makes the decision before she can second-guess herself.

He lets her.

She closes the small space between them, one hand finding its way behind his neck, the other resting on his chest between his hearts with more than a little uncertainty. Her lips catch his; they are cold and small and soft, but they quickly warm where his meet them. He closes his eyes, his hands finding their way around her waist.

It could not have lasted more than three seconds. She steps back. He feels the same shock reflected in her face. He takes a small, shaky breath. It's not like they haven't kissed before; in fact, he could argue that their previous one was more passionate. But this is new; this is... intimate.

He struggles to find the words to describe how his hearts are rattling frantically against his ribcage; how blood has flowed twice as much from his chest to his ears, to his belly, to his fingertips; how he can see nothing now except her and her flaring hair in this moonlit backyard. So instead, he asks: "So you're going back now?"

His eyes flick to the crumbling house behind her, but he doesn't mean the house.

She doesn't nod, but she doesn't shake her head either. Holding his gaze, she answers, "If I was, are you going to ask why?"

He swallows. "No."

"Because if I tell you, you would argue against it. And win." It sounds like half a statement and half a question, too.

He laughs, small and shaky. "The uncertainty of that outcome is what scares me."

She looks down and takes a deep breath, swallowing down whatever words threaten to spill from her lips. He supposes she's surprised at his complete show of honesty and vulnerability even for a moment. Frankly, he's surprised, himself.

Amy clears her throat to dispel the tension. She smiles though he can see that tears have sprung into her eyes. He couldn't do with having his tears flowing too, so he steps forward and envelopes her in a tight embrace. She laughs. Of course, so does he.

They stay like that for a while. Actually, they stay like that for one hundred and eleven seconds, but he wouldn't know that, because he isn't counting the seconds, consciously or subconsciously. Instead, he's committing to memory how her body feels against his, how her hair smells like cinnamon and honey, how her hands are splayed on his shoulder blades, how her waist fits in his arms.

It not like he's losing her as in he's never going to see her again: he knows she'll always want to go back to the TARDIS, and that he'll always take her on board, married or no. But it seems like he's losing her anyway; losing _this_ to the night, a night which will inevitably lose to the morning. And oh, how he dreads what the morning brings.

She presses a kiss onto his cheek and whispers in his ear. "Come to the reception, okay?"

He chuckles, low and deep. "I'll always come when you ask, Pond."

 

 


End file.
